


Imprint

by Exorin



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Mindfuck, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:23:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exorin/pseuds/Exorin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm terrible at titles. Please know that this is just vague tentacle porn and drift mindfuckery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imprint

He spins into the drift, flashes of his past and his present pressed, blurred together, against his eyelids and he can feel the distant humming, can hear it in the vibrations of the air, feel it against his chest, his neck, thrumming in his fingers and he knows he’s getting closer.

The first crack that splits open, spreads wide, is grey, is dark, is tinged with sharp ridges of colour that’s indescribable within the confines of human understanding- looking at it spears him open, makes his whole body shake, his tattoo burns bright against his forearm, like Knifehead is inside it, scratching to get free from him and he’s not even at the edge of the Kaiju’s consciousness yet.

There’s heat burning up his legs, starting at his feet and spreading over his thighs, climbing higher, circled around his skin as the air parts in front of him, ripples outward until he’s standing in the centre of it all, balanced on the precipice of minds- when he looks back, his is open before him, simple, easy, his memories swirling through the vortex like a well-read book.

Ahead of him is like nothing he’s ever seen before.

When he trips over the line it’s like falling upwards, pushed from beneath and dragged, pulled, forced through thick layers of memories that he can’t, will never, could never understand.

There’s drumming in his ears, loud beats of something digging into his head, wrapping around his mind and it feels almost sentient- tendrils curling into his thoughts, into his subconscious and freeing all of the ideas never fully formed, all of the deepest, most depraved desires he’s never allowed himself to explore.

And still spinning through the drift, lost and mentally opened he can see it all, can feel it in flashes- shoved up against the things in his own head.

Heat against his back and the low, harsh breath of a non-human exhale against his throat- scaled skin, armour, nudging against him, widening his stance and keeping him uncomfortably spread.

Two, three, six tendrils- blue and glowing, too thick, too alive to be called that, tangled around him, around his elbows just above his tattooed sleeves, his ankles, his thighs- tightening imperceptibly with every quick little jump of his pulse.

A tentacle stretched up his leg, along the inseam of his pants, latching, curling over, around the hardening weight of his cock- hot, too hot, and heavy, holding, and pushed up against him.

Another curved around his waist, the rounded end of it working it’s way beneath the back hem of his skinny jeans- splitting the fabric open to slide, thick, wet, sticky, down between the crack of his ass.

His mouth open, gasping and another of them wound around his neck- wide and arched up to press along the edges of his lips before stretching them out around the length of it, shoving into the opened space and making him choke, groan, swallow.

He’s covered and wet with the bright blue burn of it’s saliva, it’s liquid- filled with the visceral sounds of something not at all human shifting inside of him, taking little pieces of everything he’s never said out loud and rendering them real, tangible, alive around him. 

There’s echoes of his voice everywhere, drawn out, desperate, smothered sounds that have his hips working with the push, pull, shove and drive of the tentacles wrapped over him, speared inside of him, spread into his body. 

And it’s not until he’s pulled backwards, ripped through the drift, the void, dragged through his history and free from the circled device atop his head that he realizes just what he’s done, opened, unleashed inside him and with shaking hands and a bloody red blur over his eyes he knows that nothing will ever be enough again. 


End file.
